


After

by YlvaUllsdotter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 18+, Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean x Reader, F/M, Fanfiction, Fluff, NSFW, One-Shot, Porn With Plot, Reader Insert, Reader is a dumbass also, SPN - Freeform, Self-Loathing, Smut, Supernatural - Freeform, Then smut, body image issues, but they work it out, dean is a dumbass, plus sized!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 00:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YlvaUllsdotter/pseuds/YlvaUllsdotter
Summary: Dean wakes up alone in the recliner, Y/N’s scent still on his skin. He spends all day trying to sort through his thoughts, while she pointedly avoids him. Everything comes to a head that evening.





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@saxxxology](https://saxxxology.tumblr.com/)’s Plus-Size Challenge. What happened after [that night in the Dean-cave](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15189152)? It's angst ending in fluffy smut. I apologize for nothing.

Dean drifted into consciousness with the awareness that he was alone. He blinked slowly, confused by why that should be at the forefront of his mind. Then he was confused by where he was for a moment before the memories of the previous night came rushing back, triggered by her scent lingering on his skin. 

Returning the recliner to the upright position, he noticed the blanket as it slid off him. With only the light from the hallway outside to guide him, what little of it filtered through the grate on the door, he collected his clothes off the floor, bundled them under his arm, and padded off barefoot to the showers, the blanket draped around him like a toga. He was disappointed not to see anyone on his short trek through the tiled hallways. 

Dean discarded the clothes in the laundry hamper, the blanket ending up in a puddle on the floor next to it when he stepped into one of the shower stalls. He almost regretted the warm water washing her scent from his skin. Closing his eyes, he stood under the shower and let the water run over him while his mind replayed the events from the night before. His body reacted to the images in an all too predictable way.

One hand wrapped around his length, he relived the feeling of her mouth on him, his strokes mimicking the pace she had set. The sound of the water masked his moans and the slapping of skin on skin as he chased his release. Memories of her skin against his, her scent surrounding him, her soft warm core welcoming his cock inside her over and over - he had to lean his shoulders back against the tiled wall for support when his knees threatened to give out on him. Biting his lip to stifle his moans, he climaxed, the water washing the evidence down the drain.

 

 

He finished in the shower and headed to his room, only a towel wrapped around his hips. The chill air of the Bunker gave him goosebumps, but it felt more refreshing than uncomfortable, after his shower. 

Dressed in clean clothes, sweatpants and a t-shirt, Dean set out in search of her, or his brother, or Castiel. Anyone would do at this point, now that he knew it was almost noon. He found lukewarm coffee in the kitchen and a plate of cold waffles with cold bacon. A note in the library let him know Sam had taken off for a couple of days to catch some weird foreign movie. Going by the garage, he found one car gone, presumably the one Sam had taken. Unless she had gone along, she should still be in the Bunker, yet he could find no trace of her.

Dean finally made his way to her room, hesitating for an embarrassingly long time before knocking.

“Yeah?” By the way her voice was muffled, he guessed she was most likely sat on her bed.

“Y/N? You ok?” It came out gruffer than expected and he grimaced at himself. It was quiet for so long he was about to knock again when the door opened. He had to remind himself to breathe. 

“I’m fine, Dean. Did you need anything? I’m helping Sam with some research while he’s gone.” Her tone was neutral, friendly, no different than it had been the day before or the day before that.

“Oh. Ok.” He managed to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “No, I don’t need anything, just wondering where you were at. The Bunker was starting to feel kinda empty,” he replied when he remembered she had asked him a question. He forced his lips to smile, even as his heart sank into his boots. Clearly, last night had meant a lot more to him than it had to her.

“Well, I’m right here. If you want something to do, I can give you a couple of the books and you can help with the research.” Her friendly smile hurt him almost physically, but he hid his emotions behind a steel wall of denial like he always did.

“Uh, no thanks. I’ll just be in the garage,” he told her in answer to her suggestion, taking a step backward.

“Ok. You know where I’ll be if you need help with anything.” She gave a tiny nod and closed the door, depriving him of the sight of her. 

Almost mechanically, he turned and walked away, his feet taking him to the garage while the conversation replayed in his mind, over and over, a thousand times in the minute it took to get where he was going. He leaned against his Baby and bumped his forehead against her shiny black roof. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he muttered to the car as if it could hear him.

With a sigh, he went to fetch his toolbox, popped the Impala’s hood, and dove in to fiddle with her parts, even though there was nothing wrong. He methodically set about cleaning every part of her engine - remove, wipe off, replace - his hands working on autopilot while his mind swirled with thoughts.

Obviously, all the little things he had thought were signs had only been his wishful thinking. Clearly, she did not reciprocate his feelings and last night had just been a one-time thing for her. Stupid to think that a woman like her could ever feel anything for a guy like him. He was damaged in so many ways, broken and put back together with duct tape one too many times, no one in their right mind would choose to deal with that kind of damage in any kind of relationship. He was delusional thinking that she could ever feel that way about him. And she was right to, he was not good enough for her, she deserved better and he was not going to be the one to stand in the way of her happiness. 

And on and on the thoughts went in Dean’s head, all of the self-loathing and doubt swirling to the surface.

* * *

In her room, Y/N sat on top of her bed completely still, her eyes staring at nothing as she convinced herself that she could go on being just friends with Dean Winchester, after the night they had just shared. It had meant nothing to him. Just letting off steam. She was not his type, not skinny, or beautiful, nothing like the women Dean usually went for at bars. And she should know, she had watched him for years, pick up one after another in bar after bar, gritting her teeth and enduring the implied rejection. 

Sam knew, of course, and he had told her so many times that she was being silly, that Dean liked her a lot more than he let on. Obviously, Sam was just trying to make her feel better. Dean was her friend and that was enough. If that meant that she had to endure seeing him pick up pretty women in bars, then so be it. If it meant that all she could ever have from him was what they had shared the previous night, then she would take it. She would wrap that memory up and stash it in the back of her mind like a treasure, to be taken out and admired when she needed it, and otherwise kept under strict lock and key. 

Heaving a deep sigh, she picked up the book she had been reading when Dean knocked on the door. Sam had maybe found them a case and she had promised to help him with the research just to get him to take a couple of days off. It was nothing urgent, possibly a haunting, but no one had been hurt yet. As she turned to the text, an image of Dean’s expression when she had opened her door flitted through her mind. Had she imagined it? Had there been a flicker of emotion in his eyes? She shook her head. Wishful thinking.

* * *

Dean tried really hard to focus on what his hands were doing, but this was work that he could do blindfolded, and his mind kept returning to the images of her naked body, only partially revealed by the play of light and shadow caused by the light sifting in through the closed door. Instead of pieces of metal, his hands remembered the feeling of her skin as he caressed her. The weight of her breasts as he cupped them. The soft curves of her body fitting so well against his own hard planes. He almost hit his head on the open hood when he straightened with the sudden realization that he had never seen her with another guy. Ever. 

His face settled into a frown as he bent back to his work. It meant nothing. She was probably just picky about who she hooked up with. As she should be. She deserved the best, and that certainly was not Dean Winchester. He huffed at himself. Stupid.

 

 

It was several hours before Dean stood up and wiped his hands on a different rag than the one he had been using. That one was soaked in oil by now and he discarded it to be washed some time when he thought of it. He closed the hood and went over the sink where he scrubbed the grease and dirt from his hands. As he scrubbed, his thoughts wandered again. 

She was nothing like the women he would pick up in bars. She was completely out of his league for one. Gorgeous and badass. Images flashed through his mind, of her plump ass contained in a pair of her jeans, the fabric hugging her like a second skin. Flashes of her cleavage that he had caught on occasion when she leaned over, her flannel unbuttoned halfway, her tank top low-cut. Every once in a while he would catch a glimpse of lace or satin and he found himself wondering. Once, when she had crouched down to examine something, he had seen a strip of purple satin and lace. That evening he had felt guilty after jerking off to the image of her thick thighs wrapped around his head, the purple satin and lace ripped to shreds.

Dean shook his head to clear it of the images that were making his body respond in inappropriate ways. He wiped his hands on a clean towel and grimaced wryly to himself. That was certainly never going to happen now. 

He made his way to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway when he spotted her in there. She was cooking, Zep’s  _ Travelling Riverside Blues _ playing on her phone that was sat on the counter, hips swaying as she hummed along. The whole tableau brought a soft smile to Dean’s lips, and he stood there just watching her until she turned around and spotted him. He felt his ears burn even as she gave a little nervous laugh.

“Dean. How long have you been there?”

He cleared his throat and made himself smile disarmingly. “Not long. I didn’t wanna bother you, you seemed to be in a happy place,” he explained, catching himself rubbing the back of his neck. He knew it was one of his tells and made himself stop, tucking his hands in his pockets even as he leaned on the door jamb. “What are you cooking? And more importantly, is there enough for two?”

Her smile told him he had successfully disarmed a potentially dangerous situation and he relaxed marginally, listening to her explain her special stew recipe. She turned back to the cooking, giving him a smile over her shoulder. He barely registered what she actually said, just reveling in the sound of her voice, and how happy she seemed. When she beckoned him over, he felt as if he was pulled towards her by an almost irresistible force. When he stopped, he knew he was standing much too close for ‘friendly’, but it was as if he had no control around her. When she turned and was almost pressed up against him, his breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat. 

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, chests touching, eyes locked on each other. His mouth suddenly felt dry and the tip of his tongue slipped out to wet his lips. Her eyes flicked down for just a second before returning to his. He felt an almost painful need to touch her and his hand came up to softly brush a strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.

“Why don’t you get some bowls and spoons, Dean?” The breathless quality of her voice and the heat of her skin must have been wishful thinking on his part. Right?

He nodded and silently went about setting the table, not trusting his own voice. He had barely finished when she brought the pot over to the table, setting it down where they would both be able to reach it.

“Wow, that is a lot of food,” he peered into the pot, getting a faceful of the amazing scent of beef stew. 

“I know! I can never seem to cook for any less than a full battalion. At least we’ll have plenty of leftovers,” she laughed softly, making Dean’s breath catch again at the sound.

They sat on either side of the table and she held her hand out for his bowl. He handed it to her, careful not to touch her fingers. He watched her face as she ladled the food into the bowl, the look of concentration utterly adorable to him. When she had filled both of their bowls, she produced a basket covered with a kitchen towel. Pulling the towel away, Dean found steaming hot dinner rolls that smelled divine.

“You made these?” He was unable to keep the awe out of his voice.

“Yeah. Mom taught me,” she explained, with a small shrug.

He took a bite out of the roll he had chosen and was helpless to hold back the moan of pleasure at the flavor.

“Y/N, these are the best damn rolls I have ever had in my life. I could die happy now,” he praised and was rewarded with a small shy laugh from her.

“Aw, shucks, you’re embarrassing me, Dean. Shut up and eat your food,” she smiled at him again, almost making him choke on his food.

They ate in silence for a while, the food too good to do anything but enjoy it. Dean was halfway through his second helping when he finally paused to look up at her. The light framed her perfectly and she looked like she had a halo or a crown of light. Not even the smear of sauce on her lip could detract from her beauty. Instinctively, Dean reached out to wipe the sauce from her lip with his finger and found himself lingering over the softness of her lip, his thumb tracing it in a caress. When he realized what he was doing, he pulled his hand away like he had been burnt. He looked back down at his food and mumbled an apology, so he missed the almost dazed look on her face. At his apology, that look turned to one of disappointment, and she dismissed the whole thing with a small wave of her hand. 

After that, there was an almost palpable tension in the room. Eventually, the conversation picked back up, but it had a forced quality. Even so, when they were both done, Dean offered to help with the dishes. She might not feel anything other than friendship for him, but he wanted to spend as much time with her as she would let him. 

As he washed their bowls, he stole glances at her where she was ladling stew into Tupperware containers to put in the freezer. Even wearing sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, she was more beautiful than any woman he had ever picked up in a bar. Her bare feet padded across the tiled floor as she put the containers in an out of the way corner to cool before freezing them. That done, she picked up a clean towel and started drying the dishes. Dean imagined he could feel the heat from her body where she stood next to him.

Dean was putting a washed dish on the counter to be dried just as she reached for another and their hands met, sending a shock of static improbably through both of them. Before she could pull away, he grabbed her hand and turned towards her taking half a step closer. Just as they had earlier, they stood chest to chest, toe to toe, eyes locked on each other. The only difference was their hands touching. Slowly, Dean spread his fingers, hers following their movements until their hands were flat against each other, palm to palm. He curled his fingers around hers, and she did the same. Dean could barely breathe, going on pure instinct as he closed the distance between them, moving slowly to give her every chance to pull away. She did not. 

Their lips met, softly, hesitantly, pressing together in a chaste kiss. He felt her fingers tighten on his and then her free hand was at the back of his neck, holding him in place as she kissed him back with the same passion he had felt from her the previous night.

* * *

As Dean’s face approached hers, Y/N’s brain ceased to function and she stood still as a deer caught in headlights. Or perhaps more like a hunter stands still to encourage the skittish animal closer. When his soft lips met hers in the most chaste of kisses, she acted on instinct. This was Dean, kissing her, and she would not let this opportunity pass her by, consequences be damned. Her hand came up to cradle the back of his neck and she pressed closer to him, taking control of the kiss. 

Just as she was starting to wonder if perhaps she had made a mistake, Dean finally moved, his hands coming up to cup her face. His tongue swiped along her lips and she parted them, their tongues meeting in an almost desperate caress. All doubt fled from her mind when she felt the deep need in his kiss and her heart soared with joy. 

* * *

Dean was no longer thinking, only acting on pure instinct. He wanted her, no he needed her like he needed air. His hands moved down her neck, over her shoulders, in a caress that only stopped when they came to rest on her hips. She nipped at his bottom lip and he made no attempt to stop the low moan that escaped him, only pressed her closer to him, wanting this moment to go on forever.

He gasped when she finally pulled away, only enough to look him in the eyes, but it was too far for Dean. He rested his forehead against hers, their heavy breaths mingling. 

“Dean. Wait. I need to know that this is not just...that it means something to you. Because it means a lot to me,” her words were a whisper barely moving the air between them, but they prompted him to lift his head and look down into her eyes.

“Y/N, I…,” he hesitated, his eyes searching hers for answers. “I love you,” he finally told her, almost holding his breath, expecting her to reject him.

“Oh, Dean,” she smiled softly up at him. “I love you too. I have for a long time.” Abandoning all attempts at talking this thing to death, she reached up and kissed him again, just a light peck, before she moved away, pulling him along by the hand that was still joined with hers.

Dean followed her willingly, silently blessing her foresight in picking a room so close to the kitchen. This was such a different experience already than any time he had picked up a woman in a bar, he was more than willing to let her take the lead.

She let go of his hand when they entered her room, and he turned around to watch her as she closed the door. A small smile quirked her lips up when she faced him and without any preamble, she pulled the oversized sweatshirt over her head and tossed it over a chair. She cocked an eyebrow at him and he quickly pulled his own t-shirt off and threw it aside, not caring what happened to it. Still without speaking, she shimmied out of her sweatpants, kicking them aside. Her eyes seemed to challenge him to say something about her appearance, but he was lost for words.

Finally, he managed to breathe three of them. “You’re so beautiful.” The way her eyes sparkled when he said it was more than reward enough. 

There was no fancy lingerie, just a very functional set of white cotton underthings, but Dean could not care less. He wanted to touch her so badly, but he held back, letting her set the pace. Gratefully, he watched her step closer to him, taking his hands and placing them on her skin, giving him permission to touch. His hands caressed her softly, tracing her curves from her hips to her shoulders and back down where he was finally able to cup her breasts, swiping his thumbs over her nipples. Her gasp and the way she very slightly arched into his touch made his cock twitch and he quickly divested himself of his sweatpants and boxers.

When he went to move closer to her again, she stopped him with a hand on his chest and he gave her a confused look. Her smile reassured him and he waited to see what she would do. Turning them both around, she sat down on the foot of the bed, her hands on his hips pulling him towards her. When her tongue swiped over the head of his cock, Dean choked out a strangled “Fuck”. His hands clenched at his sides, wanting to touch her, but afraid to.

His eyes were riveted on the sight of her lips wrapped around his cock, the image combined with the feeling of her warm wet mouth almost enough to make him come right then. 

“Y/N, baby, I want to taste you. Please, can I?” Dean’s voice was choked with desire and he was grateful when she pulled away to answer him.

She looked up at him, her hand lazily stroking his length. “Since you asked so nicely, yes you can,” she replied with a smirk.

She scooted up on the bed until she could lie down comfortably and Dean followed, nestling between her legs. He spent some time nipping and kissing her thighs before finally ending up where they both wanted him. Using both hands to spread her open, he licked a stripe from bottom to top, giving her clit a flick that caused her to gasp out his name. Humming with pleasure, Dean dove in using his tongue, lips, and fingers to bring her to the edge. 

Her thighs clenched on either side of his head, she held him in place easily, and Dean did not mind one bit. He eagerly lapped up her juices as he made her come over and over until she pushed him away, too sensitive to take any more. She pulled him up until he was hovering over her, and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue and lips. 

Dean was happy to discover she had gotten rid of her bra while he was busy. Her breasts lay heavy in his hands as he bent his mouth to tease her nipples, making her arch into him and gasp his name. He decided that the way she said his name was his favorite sound.

“Dean. Stop teasing and fuck me already.” What she meant as a command came out more as a breathless moan, but she was too far gone to care. 

Dean hesitated and his eyes found hers, his expression sheepish. “I don’t have any condoms,” he stated flatly.

“Top drawer,” she told him, waiting impatiently while he rummaged. Finally, he slid the condom on with a shuddering sigh and lined himself up to enter her, only to cry out in surprise when she met him halfway. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, his face pressed into her neck. The soft warmth of her surrounding his cock was almost too much.

“Dean. Move.”

“Yeah. Just...gimme a second,” he grated out through clenched teeth, desperately trying not to come like a teenage virgin.

She stilled beneath him, giving him the time he needed, even though every fiber of her being wanted him to move. Her hands slid in a caress from his shoulders, along his back, coming to rest on his ass. He could feel her pussy clench around him and it did not help, although it felt amazing. Finally, he pushed all the way into her, tentatively, then pulled almost all the way out. Her hands on his ass encouraged him and he plunged back in, drawing breathy moans from both of them. 

He went slowly at first, but once he found the right angle, he sped up his thrusts. Every time he hit that spot inside her she let out a small whine that did things to him. He knew he was not going to last long and he wanted her to come one more time before he did. His hand found its way between them, rubbing her clit in tight circles.

“Come on, Y/N, one more. I want to feel you come with my cock inside you,” he panted in her ear and she moaned loudly.

“Fuck. Dean. I’m gonna-,” her words were cut off when she fell over the edge, her whole body tense as she held her breath. Dean could feel her pulsing around his cock inside her and his thrusts became erratic. He felt the familiar tightening of his balls, the tingle along his spine, and then he was coming with a cry of her name.

Dean collapsed on top of her, helpless to move, struggling just to catch his breath. When he tried to roll off her, she held him in place easily. “No, don’t move. Not yet,” she breathed and he was happy to stay. Finally, after a few millennia, she was the one to roll both of them until they were lying next to each other. He smiled at her and knew it was the softest, dopiest smile he had ever produced and he absolutely did not care.

“Are you still gonna respect me in the morning?” He asked, only half-jokingly.

“Probably not,” she replied with a wink. “Maybe if you make me pancakes for breakfast.”

“I can do that,” he grinned, tired but happy beyond measure.

Her smirk softened into a small smile and she reached out to brush his sweat-damp hair from his forehead. “Dean. Please tell me this wasn’t just a whim for you.” Her voice was suddenly unsure, full of doubt.

Dean reached up and caressed her face softly. “Never, Y/N. You and me, we’re forever,” he assured her, meaning it with every cell in his body.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head and kissed his palm. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

“I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. Always.”


End file.
